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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 
ANN   GUEST 


k 


A   SHROPSHIRE   LAD 


SHROPSHIRE  LAD 

BY 
A.  E.  HOUSMAN 


JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

THE   BODLEY  HEAD,  NEW  YORK 

MCMVI 


LIBRARY 

UMVERSri/  OF  C-JJFOaNiA 
isAlN'i'A  BAitB/^iA 


CONTENTS 


No, 
I.   From  Clee  to  heaven  the  beacon  burns 
II.    Loveliest  of  trees,  the  cherry  now 

III.  Leave  your  home  behind,  lad   .     . 

IV.  Wake  :  the  silver  dusk  returning  . 
V.    Oh  see  how  thick  the  goldcup  flowers 

VI.    When  the  lad  for  longing  sighs 
.    VII.   When  smoke  stood  up  from  Ludlow 
VIII.    Farewell  to  barn  and  stack  and  tree 
IX.    On  moonlit  heath  and  lonesome  bank 
X.   The  Sun  at  noon  to  higher  air  . 
XI.    On  your  midnight  pallet  lying  . 
XII.    When  I  watch  the  living  meet  . 

XIII.  When  I  was  one-and-twenty     . 

XIV.  There  pass  the  careless  people  . 
XV.    Look  not  in  my  eyes,  for  fear  , 

XVI.    It  nods  and  curtseys  and  recovers 
XVII.   Twice  a  week  the  winter  thorough 
XVIII.    Oh,  when  I  was  in  love  with  you  . 
XIX.   The  time  you  won  your  town  the  race 
V 


Page 

1 

3 

4 

6 

8 

10 

11 

13 

14 

n 

18 
19 
20 
21 

23 

24 
24 
25 
26 


No. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 
XXIII. 
XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 
XXXI. 

XXXII. 
XXXIII. 
XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Oh  fair  enoiigli  arc  sky  and  plain     .  28 

In  .summcrtiiiK'  on  Hrcdon  ....  29 

The  street  .sounds  to  the  soldiers' tread  32 

The  lads  in  their  hundreds  .     .     .     .  :13 
Say,  lad,  have  you  things  to  do    .     .35 

This  time  of  year  a  twelvemonth  past  36 

Along  the  field  as  we  came  by     .     .  37 

Is  my  team  ploughing 38 

High  the  vanes  of  Shrewsbury  gleam  40 

T  is  spring ;  come  out  to  ramble  .     .  43 

Others,  I  am  not  the  first    ....  44 
On   Wcnlock   Edge   the  wood  's   in 

trouble 45 


From  far,  from  eve  and  morning  . 
If  truth  in  hearts  that  perish  .  .  . 
Oh,  sick  I  am  to  see  you  .  .  .  . 
On  the  idle  hill  of  summer  .... 
White  in  the  moon  the  long  road  lies 
As  through  the  wild  green  hills  of 

Wyre 

The  winds  out  of  the  west  land  blow 
T  is  time,  I  think,  by  Wenlock  town 
Into  my  heart  an  air  that  kills 
In  my  own  shire,  if  I  was  sad  .     . 
Once  in  the  wind  of  morning  .     . 
When  I  meet  the  morning  beam  . 
Shot  ?  so  quick,  so  clean  an  ending 
vi 


47 
48 
49 
51 
52 

53 

55 
56 
57 
58 
60 
64 
67 


CONTENTS 

No. 

Page 

XLV. 

If  it  chance  your  eye  offend  you     .     . 

69 

XLVI. 

Bring,  in  this  timeless  grave  to  throw 

69 

XLVII. 

Here  the  hangman  stops  his  cart    .     . 

71 

XLVIII. 

Be  still,  ray  soul,  be  still 

73 

XLIX. 

Think  no  more,  lad ;  laugh,  be  joUy    . 

75 

L. 

In  valleys  of  springs  of  rivers     .     .     . 

76 

LI. 

Loitering  with  a  vacant  eye   .... 

78 

LII. 

Far  in  a  western  brookland    .... 

79 

LIII. 

The  lad  came  to  the  door  at  night  .     . 

80 

LIV. 

With  rue  my  heart  is  laden    .... 

83 

LV. 

Westward  on  the  high-hilled  plains 

83 

LVI. 

Far  I  hear  the  bugle  blow 

85 

LVII. 

You  smile  upon  your  friend  to-day  .     . 

86 

LVIII. 

When  I  came  last  to  Ludlow      .     .     . 

87 

LIX. 

The  star-filled  seas  are  smooth  to-night 

87 

LX. 

Now  hoUow  fires  burn  out  to  black 

88 

LXI. 

The  vane  on  Hughley  steeple     .     ,     . 

89 

LXII. 

Terence,  this  is  stupid  stuff    .... 

91 

LXIII. 

I  hoed  and  trenched  and  weeded    .     . 

95 

Vll 


I 

1887 

From  Clee  to  heaven  the  beacon  burns, 

The  shires  have  seen  it  plain^ 
From  north  and  south  the  sign  returns 

And  beacons  burn  again. 

Look  left,  look  rights  the  hills  are  bright. 

The  dales  are  light  between. 
Because  't  is  fifty  years  to-night 

That  God  has  saved  the  Queen* 

Now,  when  the  flame  they  watch  not  towers 

About  the  soil  they  trod, 
Lads,  we  '11  remember  friends  of  ours 

Who  shared  the  work  with  God. 


A     STmOPSHITlE    T.AD 

To  skies  that  knit  their  heartstrings  right, 
To  fields  that  bred  them  brave, 

The  saviours  come  not  home  to-night : 
Themselves  they  could  not  save. 


It  dawns  in  Asia,  tombstones  show 
And  Shropshire  names  are  read ; 

And  the  Nile  spills  his  overflow 
Beside  the  Severn's  dead. 


We  pledge  in  peace  by  farm  and  town 
The  Queen  they  served  in  war. 

And  fire  the  beacons  up  and  down 
The  land  they  perished  for. 

'  God  save  the  Queen  '  we  living  sing. 
From  height  to  height  't  is  heard ; 
And  with  the  rest  your  voices  ring, 
Lads  of  the  Fifty-third. 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Oh,  God  will  save  her,  fear  you  not  : 
Be  you  the  men  you  've  been, 

Get  you  the  sons  your  fathers  got. 
And  God  will  save  the  Queen. 


II 

Loveliest  of  trees,  the  cherry  now 
Is  hung  with  bloom  along  the  bough. 
And  stands  about  the  woodland  ride 
Wearing  white  for  Eastertide. 


Now,  of  my  threescore  years  and  ten. 
Twenty  will  not  come  again, 
And  take  from  seventy  springs  a  score. 
It  only  leaves  me  fifty  more. 
3 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

And  since  to  look  at  things  in  bloom 
Fifty  springs  arc  little  room, 
About  the  woodlands  I  will  go 
To  see  the  cherry  hung  with  snow. 


Ill 

THE   RECRUIT 


Leave  your  home  behind,  lad. 

And  reach  your  friends  your  hand, 

And  go,  and  luck  go  with  you 
While  Ludlow  tower  shall  stand. 


Oh,  come  you  home  of  Sunday 
When  Ludlow  streets  are  still 

And  Ludlow  bells  are  calling 
To  farm  and  lane  and  mill, 
4 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Or  come  you  home  of  Monday 
When  Ludlow  market  hums 

And  Ludlow  chimes  are  playing 
'The  conquering  hero  comes/ 


Come  you  home  a  hero. 
Or  come  not  home  at  all, 

The  lads  you  leave  will  mind  you 
Till  Ludlow  tower  shall  fall. 


And  you  will  list  the  bugle 
That  blows  in  lands  of  morn. 

And  make  the  foes  of  England 
Be  sorry  you  were  born. 

And  you  till  trump  of  doomsday 
On  lands  of  morn  may  lie. 

And  make  the  hearts  of  comrades 
Be  heavy  where  you  die. 
5 


A  snuorsHiKi:   i.ad 

Leave  your  home  bt-hiiul  you, 
Your  friciuls  by  Held  ••iiul  town; 

Oh,  town  and  fultl  will  luind  you 
Till  Ludlow  tower  is  down. 


"      IV 
REVEILLE 

Wake  :  the  silver  dusk  returning 
Up  the  beach  of  darkness  brims. 

And  the  ship  of  sunrise  burning 
Strands  upon  the  eastern  rims. 

Wake  :  the  vaulted  shadow  shatters. 
Trampled  to  the  floor  it  spanned. 

And  the  tent  of  night  in  tatters 
Straws  the  sky-pavilioned  land. 
6 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Up,  lad,  up,  't  is  late  for  lying  : 
Hear  the  drums  of  morning  play  ; 

Hark,  the  empty  highways  crying 
'  Who  '11  beyond  the  hills  away  ? ' 

Towns  and  countries  woo  together. 
Forelands  beacon,  belfries  call ; 

Never  lad  that  trod  on  leather 
Lived  to  feast  his  heart  with  all. 

Up,  lad  :  thews  that  lie  and  cumber 
Sunlit  pallets  never  thrive  ; 

Morns  abed  and  daylight  slumber 
Were  not  meant  for  man  alive. 

Clay  lies  still,  but  blood 's  a  rover  ; 

Breath 's  a  ware  that  will  not  keep. 
Up,  lad  :  when  the  journey 's  over 

There  '11  be  time  enough  to  sleep. 

?• 

7 


A    SllUOl'SlllliE    LAD 


Oil  sec  liow  lliick  the  goldcup  flowers 

Are  lviii<j^  in  field  aiul  Ijiiie, 
With  dandehons  to  tell  the  hours 

That  never  are  told  again. 
Oh  may  I  squire  you  round  the  meads 

And  pick  you  j)osies  gay  ? 
—  'Twill  do  no  harm  to  take  my  arm. 

*  You  may,  young  man,  you  may.' 


Ah,  spring  was  sent  for  lass  and  lad, 

'T  is  now  the  blood  runs  gold. 
And  man  and  maid  had  best  be  glad 

Before  the  world  is  old. 
What  flcnvers  to-day  may  flower  to-morrow, 

But  never  as  good  as  new. 
—  Suppose  I  wound  my  arm  right  round — 

*  'T  is  true,  young  man,  't  is  true.' 
8 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Some  lads  there  are,  't  is  shame  to  say. 

That  only  court  to  thieve. 
And  once  they  bear  the  bloom  away 

'T  is  little  enough  they  leave. 
Then  keep  your  heart  for  men  like  me 

And  safe  from  trustless  chaps. 
My  love  is  true  and  all  for  you. 

*  Perhaps,  young  man,  perhaps.' 

Oh,  look  in  my  eyes  then,  can  you  doubt .'' 

—  Why,  't  is  a  mile  from  town. 
How  green  the  grass  is  all  about  I 

We  might  as  well  sit  down. 
—  Ah,  life,  what  is  it  but  a  flower  ? 

Why  must  true  lovers  sigh  ? 
Be  kind,  have  pity,  my  own,  my  pretty,  — 

'  Good-bye,  young  man,  good-bye.' 


A    SIIUOrSIIIRE    I- AD 


VI 

When  the  lad  for  longing  sighs, 
Mute  and  dull  of  cheer  and  pale. 

If  at  death's  own  door  he  Hes, 
Maiden,  you  can  heal  his  ail. 

Lovers'  ills  are  all  to  buy  : 

The  wan  look,  the  hollow  tone. 

The  hung  head,  the  sunken  eye. 
You  can  have  them  for  your  own. 

Buy  them,  buy  them  :  eve  and  mom 

Lovers'  ills  are  all  to  sell. 
Then  you  can  lie  down  forlorn ; 

But  the  lover  will  be  well. 


lO 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD   ^ 


VII 

When  smoke  stood  up  from  Ludlow 
And  mist  blew  off  from  Teme, 

And  blithe  afield  to  ploughing 
Against  the  morning  beam 
I  strode  beside  my  team, 

The  blackbird  in  the  coppice 
Looked  out  to  see  me  stride. 

And  hearkened  as  I  whistled 
The  trampling  team  beside. 
And  fluted  and  replied  : 

'  Lie  down,  lie  down,  young  yeoman  ; 
What  use  to  rise  and  rise  ? 

Rise  man  a  thousand  mornings 
Yet  down  at  last  he  lies. 
And  then  the  man  is  wise.' 
II 


A     SH  UOrsniHE    I.AD 

I  heard  the  tunc  lie  sang  me. 
And  spied  liis  yellow  bill  ; 

I  picked  a  stone  and  aimed  it 
And  threw  it  with  a  will : 
Then  the  bird  was  still. 

Then  my  soul  within  me 

Took  up  the  blackbird's  strain. 

And  still  beside  the  horses 
Along  the  dewy  lane 
It  sang  the  song  again : 

'  Lie  down,  lie  down,  young  yeoman  ; 
The  sun  moves  always  west ; 

The  road  one  treads  to  labour 
Will  lead  one  home  to  rest. 
And  that  will  be  the  best.' 


13 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

VIII 

'  Farewell  to  barn  and  stack  and  tree. 

Farewell  to  Severn  shore. 
Terence,  look  your  last  at  me. 

For  I  come  home  no  more. 

'  The  sun  burns  on  the  half-mown  hill. 

By  now  the  blood  is  dried  ; 
And  Maurice  amongst  the  hay  lies  still 

And  my  knife  is  in  his  side. 

*  My  mother  thinks  us  long  away  ; 

'T  is  time  the  field  were  mown. 
She  had  two  sons  at  rising  day, 

To-night  she  '11  be  alone. 

'  And  here  's  a  bloody  hand  to  shake. 
And  oh,  man,  here  's  good-bye  ; 

We  '11  sweat  no  more  on  scythe  and  rake. 
My  bloody  hands  and  I. 
13 


A     SintorSIIlUK    LAI) 

*  I  wish  you  strongth  to  bring  you  pride, 
And  a  love  to  keep  you  clean, 

And  I  wish  you  luck,  come  Lammastide, 
At  racing  on  the  green. 


'  Long  for  me  the  rick  will  wait. 
And  long  will  wait  the  fold. 

And  long  will  stand  the  empty  plate. 
And  dinner  will  be  cold.' 


IX 

On  moonlit  heath  and  lonesome  bank 
The  sheep  beside  me  graze ; 

And  yon  the  gallows  used  to  clank 
Fast  by  the  four  cross  ways. 
14 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

A  careless  shepherd  once  would  keep 
The  flocks  by  moonlight  there,  ^ 

And  high  amongst  the  glimmering  sheep 
The  dead  man  stood  on  air. 

They  hang  us  now  in  Shrewsbury  jail : 

The  whistles  blow  forlorn. 
And  trains  all  night  groan  on  the  rail 

To  men  that  die  at  morn. 

There  sleeps  in  Shrewsbury  jail  to-night, 

Or  wakes,  as  may  betide, 
A  better  lad,  if  things  went  right. 

Than  most  that  sleep  outside. 

And  naked  to  the  hangman's  noose 

The  morning  clocks  will  ring 
A  neck  God  made  for  other  use 

Than  strangling  in  a  string. 

1  Hanging  in  chains  was  called  keeping  sheep  by 
moonlight. 

IS 


A   sn  i{()i'sni  Ki:   i,ai) 

And  sli.irj)  tlic  link  <if  litV  will  snap, 
And  dead  on  air  will  stand 

Heels  that  held  up  as  straight  a  chap 
As  treads  upon  the  land. 


So  here  I  '11  watch  the  night  and  wait 
To  see  the  morning  shine, 

When  he  will  hear  the  stroke  of  eight 
And  not  the  stroke  of  nine  ; 


And  wish  my  friend  as  sound  a  sleep 

As  lads'  I  did  not  know, 
That  shepherded  the  moonlit  sheep 

A  hundred  years  ago. 


x6 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

X 

MARCH 

The  Sun  at  noon  to  higher  air, 
Unharnessing  the  silver  Pair 
That  late  before  his  chariot  swam. 
Rides  on  the  gold  wool  of  the  Ram. 


So  braver  notes  the  storm-cock  sings 
To  start  the  rusted  wheel  of  things, 
And  brutes  in  field  and  brutes  in  ])en 
Leap  that  the  world  goes  round  again. 


The  boys  are  up  the  woods  with  day 
To  fetch  the  daffodils  away, 
And  home  at  noonday  from  the  hills 
They  bring  no  dearth  of  daffodils. 

2  17 


A    Sll  KorSlI  I  Kl',    I,  A  I) 

Afield  for  p.ilins  thr  ^irls  rtjKiir, 
Ami  sure  I'lioiif;!)  llu-  palms  arc  tlicrc, 
And  each  will  find  by  hedge  or  jxtiul 
Her  wavinpj  silver-tufted  wand. 

In  farm  and  field  through  all  the  shire 
The  eye  beholds  the  heart's  desire ; 
Ah,  let  not  only  mine  be  vain, 
For  lovers  should  be  loved  again. 


XI 

On  your  midnight  pallet  lying, 
Listen,  and  undo  the  door  : 

Lads  that  waste  the  light  in  sighing 
In  the  dark  should  sigh  no  more ; 

Night  should  ease  a  lover's  sorrow  ; 

Therefore,  since  I  go  to-morrow, 
Pity  me  before. 

i8 


A    SHROPSHIRE   LAD 

In  the  land  to  which  I  travel, 
The  far  dwelling,  let  me  say  — 

Once,  if  here  the  couch  is  gravel. 
In  a  kinder  bed  I  lay. 

And  the  breast  the  darnel  smothers 

Rested  once  upon  another's 
When  it  was  not  clay. 


XII  >^ 

When  I  watch  the  living  meet. 
And  the  moving  pageant  file 

Warm  and  breathing  through  the  street 
Where  I  lodge  a  little  while. 

If  the  heats  of  hate  and  lust 

In  the  house  of  flesh  are  strong. 

Let  me  mind  the  house  of  dust 
Where  my  sojourn  shall  be  long. 
19 


A    SIlKOl'SlllllK    LAD 

In  the  nation  that  is  not 

Nothing  stands  that  stood  hi-fort-  ; 
There  reven{i;es  are  forgot, 

And  the  hater  hates  no  more  ; 


Lovers  lying  two  and  two 

Ask  not  whom  they  sleep  beside, 
And  the  bridegroom  all  night  through 

Never  turns  him  to  the  bride. 


XIII 

When  I  was  one-and-twenty 

I  heard  a  wise  man  say, 
*  Give  crowns  and  jwunds  and  guineas 

But  not  your  heart  away ; 
20 


A   SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Give  pearls  away  and  rubies 
But  keep  your  fancy  free.' 
But  I  was  one-and-twenty. 
No  use  to  talk  to  me. 

WTien  I  was  one-and-twenty 

I  heard  him  say  again, 
'  The  heart  out  of  the  bosom 

Was  never  given  in  vain  ; 
'T  is  paid  with  sighs  a  plenty 

And  sold  for  endless  rue.' 
And  I  am  two-and-twenty, 

And  oh,  't  is  true,  't  is  true. 


XIV'- 

There  pass  the  careless  people 
That  call  their  souls  their  own 

Here  by  the  road  I  loiter. 
How  idle  and  alone. 

21 


A    SlI  KOrSIIIHK    LAI) 

Ah,  past  the  pUiiige  of  plummet. 

In  seas  I  eannot  sound. 
My  heart  and  soul  and  senses, 

World  without  end,  are  drowned. 

His  folly  has  not  fellow 

Beneath  the  blue  of  day 
That  gives  to  man  or  woman 

His  heart  and  soul  away. 

There  flowers  no  balm  to  sain  him 
From  east  of  earth  to  west 

That 's  lost  for  everlasting 
The  heart  out  of  his  breast. 

Here  by  the  labouring  highway 
With  empty  hands  I  stroll  : 

Sea-deep,  till  doomsday  morning. 
Lie  lost  my  heart  and  soul. 


12 


A   SHROPSHIRE   LAD 

XV 

Look  not  in  my  eyes,  for  fear 

They  mirror  true  the  sight  I  see. 
And  there  you  find  your  face  too  clear 

And  love  it  and  be  lost  like  me. 
One  the  long  nights  through  must  lie 

Spent  in  star-defeated  sighs. 
But  why  should  you  as  well  as  I 

Perish  ?  gaze  not  in  my  eyes. 

A  Grecian  lad,  as  I  hear  tell. 

One  that  many  loved  in  vain. 
Looked  into  a  forest  well 

And  never  looked  away  again. 
There,  when  the  turf  in  springtime  flowers. 

With  downward  eye  and  gazes  sad. 
Stands  amid  the  glancing  showers 

A  jonquil,  not  a  Grecian  lad. 


23 


A    SllUurSlIlUE    LAD 

XVI 

It  nods  and  curtseys  and  recovers 
When  the  wind  blows  above, 

The  nettle  on  the  graves  of  lovers 
That  hanged  themselves  for  love. 

The  nettle  nods,  the  wind  blows  over, 
The  man,  he  does  not  move, 

The  lover  of  the  grave,  the  lover 
That  hanged  himself  for  love. 


XVII  ' 

Twice  a  week  the  winter  thorough 
Here  stood  I  to  keep  the  goal : 

Football  then  was  fighting  sorrow 
For  the  young  man's  soul. 
24 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Now  in  Maytime  to  the  wicket 
Out  I  march  with  bat  and  pad  : 

See  the  son  of  grief  at  cricket 
Trying  to  be  glad. 


Try  I  will ;  no  harm  in  trying : 
Wonder  't  is  how  little  mirth 

Keeps  the  bones  of  man  from  lying 
On  the  bed  of  earth. 


XVIII 

Oh,  when  I  was  in  love  with  you. 
Then  I  was  clean  and  brave, 

And  miles  around  the  wonder  grew 
How  well  did  I  behave. 
25 


A    SHROl'SHIUK     LAI) 

Ami  MOW  tlu'  laiu'v  passes  by, 
And  nothin;^  will  remain, 

And  miles  around  they  '11  say  that  I 
Am  quite  myself  again. 


XIX 

TO   AN   ATHLETE   DYING   YOUNG  ' 

The  time  you  won  your  town  the  race 
We  chaired  you  through  the  market-place  ; 
Man  and  boy  stood  cheering  by, 
And  home  we  brought  you  shoulder-high. 

To-day,  the  road  all  runners  come. 
Shoulder-high  we  bring  you  home. 
And  set  you  at  your  threshold  down. 
Townsman  of  a  stiller  town. 
26 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Smart  lad,  to  slip  betimes  away 
From  fields  where  glory  does  not  stay. 
And  early  though  the  laurel  grows 
It  withers  quicker  than  the  rose. 


Eyes  the  shady  night  has  shut 
Cannot  see  the  record  cut. 
And  silence  sounds  no  worse  than  cheers 
After  earth  has  stopped  the  ears  : 

Now  you  will  not  swell  the  rout 
Of  lads  that  wore  their  honours  out. 
Runners  whom  renown  outran 
And  the  name  died  before  the  man. 


So  set,  before  its  echoes  fade. 
The  fleet  foot  on  the  sill  of  shade. 
And  hold  to  the  low  lintel  up 
The  still-defended  challenge-cup. 
27 


A   siiuorsmin:   lad 

Aiul  round  that  carly-laurcllcd  head 
W'\]]  flock  to  gaze  the  strengthless  dead, 
Aiul  fiiul  imwithered  on  its  curls 
The  garland  briefer  than  a  girl's. 


XX   ' 

Oh  fair  enough  are  sky  and  plain, 

But  I  know  fairer  far : 
Those  are  as  beautiful  again 

That  in  the  water  are  ; 


The  pools  and  rivers  wash  so  clean 
The  trees  and  clouds  and  air, 

The  like  on  earth  was  never  seen. 
And  oh  that  I  were  there. 
28 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

These  are  the  thoughts  I  often  think 

As  I  stand  gazing  down 
In  act  upon  the  cressy  brink 

To  strip  and  dive  and  drown  ; 

But  in  the  golden-sanded  brooks 

And  azure  meres  I  spy 
A  silly  lad  that  longs  and  looks 

And  wishes  he  were  I. 


XXI 

BREDON^   HILL 

In  summertime  on  Bredon 

The  bells  they  sound  so  clear  ; 

Round  both  the  shires  they  ring  them 
In  steeples  far  and  near, 
A  happy  noise  to  hear. 

^  Pronounced  Breedon. 
29 


A    SHUOPSniRE    LAD 

Here  of  a  Sunday  morning 
My  love  and  I  would  lie, 

And  see  the  coloured  counties. 
And  hear  the  larks  so  high 
About  us  in  the  sky. 


The  bells  would  ring  to  call  her 
In  valleys  miles  away  : 

'  Come  all  to  church,  good  people  ; 
Good  people,  come  and  pray.' 
But  here  my  love  would  stay. 


And  I  would  turn  and  answer 
Among  the  springing  thyme, 

'  Oh,  peal  upon  our  wedding, 
And  we  will  hear  the  chime. 
And  come  to  church  in  time.* 
30 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

But  when  the  snows  at  Christmas 
On  Bredon  top  were  strown. 

My  love  rose  up  so  early 
And  stole  out  unbeknown 
And  went  to  church  alone. 

They  tolled  the  one  bell  only, 
Groom  there  was  none  to  see, 

The  mourners  followed  after. 
And  so  to  church  went  she. 
And  would  not  wait  for  me. 

The  bells  they  sound  on  Bredon, 
And  still  the  steeples  hum. 

'  Come  all  to  church,  good  people,' 
Oh,  noisy  bells,  be  dumb ; 
I  hear  you,  I  will  come. 


31 


A    SllKOrSIIIIlE    LAD 


XXII 

The  street  sounds  to  the  soldiers*  tread. 

And  out  we  troop  to  see  : 
A  single  redcoat  turns  his  head. 

He  turns  and  looks  at  me. 

My  man,  from  sky  to  sky 's  so  far. 

We  never  crossed  before  ; 
Such  leagues  apart  the  world's  ends  are. 

We  're  like  to  meet  no  more  ; 

What  thoughts  at  heart  have  you  and  I 

We  cannot  stop  to  tell ; 
But  dead  or  living,  drunk  or  dry. 

Soldier,  I  wish  you  well. 


32 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


XXIII   . 

The  lads  in  their  hundreds  to  Ludlow  come  in 
for  the  fair^ 
There  's  men  from  the  barn  and  the  forge 
and  the  mill  and  the  fold. 
The  lads  for  the  girls  and  the  lads  for   the 
liquor  are  there. 
And  there  with  the  rest  are  the  lads  that 
will  never  be  old. 


There  's  chaps  from  the  town  and  the  field  and 
the  till  and  the  cart. 
And   many  to  count  are  the   stalwart,  and 
many  the  brave, 
And   many   the    handsome    of    face   and   the 
handsome  of  heart. 
And  few  that  will  carry  their  looks  or  their 
truth  to  the  grave. 
3  33 


A     SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

I   wish  one   could    know   tlicni,   I    wish    there 
were  tokens  to  tell 
The   fortunate    fellows    that    now    you     can 
never  discern  ; 
And   then  one  could  talk  with  them  friendly 
and  wish  them  farewell 
And   watch    them  depart  on  the    way  that 
they  will  not  return. 

But  now  you  may  stare  as  you  like  and  there 's 
nothing  to  scan ; 
And  brushing  your  elbow  unguessed-at  and 
not  to  be  told 
They    carry    back    bright   to   the    coiner    the 
mintage  of  man, 
The  lads   that   will  die   in  their  glory  and 
never  be  old. 


34 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


XXIV 

SaYj  lad,  have  you  things  to  do  ? 

Quick  then,  while  your  day 's  at  prime. 
Quick,  and  if  't  is  work  for  two. 

Here  am  I,  man  :  now  's  your  time. 

Send  me  now,  and  I  shall  go  ; 

Call  me,  I  shall  hear  you  call ; 
Use  me  ere  they  lay  me  low 

Where  a  man 's  no  use  at  all ; 

Ere  the  wholesome  flesh  decay. 
And  the  willing  nerve  be  numb. 

And  the  lips  lack  breath  to  say, 
*  No,  my  lad,  I  cannot  come.' 


35 


A    SlIKOrSIIIKE    LAD 

XXV 

This  time  of  year  a  twelvemonth  past. 
When  Fred  and  I  would  meet, 

We  needs  must  jangle,  till  at  last 
We  fought  and  I  was  beat. 

So  then  the  summer  fields  about, 

Till  rainy  days  began, 
Rose  Harland  on  her  Sundays  out 

Walked  with  the  better  man. 

The  better  man  she  walks  with  still. 
Though  now  't  is  not  with  Fred  : 

A  lad  that  lives  and  has  his  will 
Is  worth  a  dozen  dead. 

Fred  keeps  the  house  all  kinds  of  weather. 
And  clay  's  the  house  he  keeps  ; 

When  Rose  and  I  walk  out  together 
Stock-still  lies  P'red  and  sleeps. 

36 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


XXVI 

Along  the  field  as  we  came  by 
A  year  ago,  my  love  and  I, 
The  aspen  over  stile  and  stone 
Was  talking  to  itself  alone. 
*  Oh,  who  are  these  that  kiss  and  pass  ? 
A  country  lover  and  his  lass  ; 
Two  lovers  looking  to  be  wed  ; 
And  time  shall  put  them  both  to  bed. 
But  she  shall  lie  with  earth  above. 
And  he  beside  another  love.' 


And  sure  enough  beneath  the  tree 
There  walks  another  love  with  me. 
And  overhead  the  aspen  heaves 
Its  rainy-sounding  silver  leaves  ; 
And  I  spell  nothing  in  their  stir. 
But  now  perhaps  they  speak  to  her, 
37 


A    SIIUOl'SlllUE    LAD 

Ami  plain  for  Iut  to  imdersluiul 
Thry  tnlk  about  a  time  at  hand 
WIuii  I  sliall  sKcp  uitii  clover  clad, 
And  she  beside  another  hid. 


XXVII     ^ 

'  Is  my  team  ploughing, 
That  I  was  used  to  drive 

And  hear  the  harness  jingle 
When  I  was  man  alive  ?  ' 


Ay,  the  horses  trample. 
The  harness  jingles  now  ; 

No  change  though  you  lie  under 
The  land  you  used  to  plough. 
38 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

*  Is  football  playing 
Along  the  river  shore. 

With  lads  to  chase  the  leather, 
Now  I  stand  up  no  more  ?  ' 


Ay,  the  ball  is  flying. 

The  lads  play  heart  and  soul  ; 
The  goal  stands  up,  the  keeper^ 

Stands  up  to  keep  the  goal. 


'  Is  my  girl  happy, 

That  I  thought  hard  to  leave. 
And  has  she  tired  of  weeping 

As  she  lies  down  at  eve  ? ' 


Ay,  she  lies  down  lightly. 
She  lies  not  down  to  weep 

Your  girl  is  well  contented. 
Be  still,  my  lad,  and  sleep. 
39 


A    SIIRorSHIRE    LAD 

*  Is  my  friend  lie.irty, 

Now  I  am  tliin  and  pine, 

And  has  hv  found  to  sleep  in 
A  better  bed  than  mine  ? 


Yes,  lad,  I  lie  easy, 

I  lie  as  lads  would  choose ; 
I  cheer  a  dead  man's  sweetheart. 

Never  ask  me  whose. 


XXVIII 

THE   WELSH   MARCHES 

High  the  vanes  of  Shrewsbury  gleam 
Islanded  in  Severn  stream  ; 
The  bridges  from  the  steepled  crest 
Cross  the  water  east  and  west. 
40 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

The  flag  of  mom  in  conqueror's  state 
Enters  at  the  Enghsh  gate  : 
The  vanquished  eve,  as  night  prevails. 
Bleeds  upon  the  road  to  Wales. 


Ages  since  the  vanquished  bled 
Round  my  mother's  marriage-bed ; 
There  the  ravens  feasted  far 
About  the  open  house  of  war : 

When  Severn  down  to  Buildwas  ran 
Coloured  with  the  death  of  man. 
Couched  upon  her  brother's  grave 
The  Saxon  got  me  on  the  slave. 

The  sound  of  fight  is  silent  long 
That  began  the  ancient  wrong  ; 
Long  the  voice  of  tears  is  still 
That  wept  of  old  the  endless  ill. 
41 


A     SUHorsilIIlK    I,  AD 

In  my  heart  it  has  not  died, 
The  war  that  sleeps  on  Severn  side  ; 
They  cease  not  fi<;htin^,  cast  and  west, 
On  the  marches  of  my  breast. 

Here  the  truceless  armies  yet 
Trample,  rolled  in  blood  and  sweat ; 
They  kill  and  kill  and  never  die ; 
And  I  think  that  each  is  I. 

None  will  part  us,  none  undo 
The  knot  that  makes  one  flesh  of  two. 
Sick  with  hatred,  sick  with  pain. 
Strangling  —  When  shall  we  be  slain  ? 

When  shall  I  be  dead  and  rid 

Of  the  wrong  my  father  did  ? 

How  long,  how  long,  till  spade  and  hearse 

Put  to  sleep  my  mother's  curse  ? 


42 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

XXIX 
THE  LENT  LILY 

'T  IS  spring  ;  come  out  to  ramble 
The  hilly  brakes  around. 

For  under  thorn  and  bramble 
About  the  hollow  ground 
The  primroses  are  found. 

And  there  's  the  windflower  chilly 
With  all  the  winds  at  play. 

And  there  's  the  Lenten  lily 
That  has  not  long  to  stay 
And  dies  on  Easter  day. 

And  since  till  girls  go  maying 
You  find  the  primrose  still. 

And  find  the  windflower  playing 
With  every  wind  at  will, 
But  not  the  daffodil, 
43 


A    SII  KOPSHIUK     LAD 

Bring  baskets  now,  ••uul  sally 
Upon  the  spring's  array. 

And  hear  from  liill  and  valley 
The  daffodil  away 
That  dies  on  Easter  day. 


XXX      . 

Others,  I  am  not  the  first, 

Have  willed  more  mischief  than  they  durst 

If  in  the  breathless  night  I  too 

Shiver  now,  't  is  nothing  new. 

More  than  I,  if  truth  were  told. 
Have  stood  and  sweated  hot  and  cold. 
And  through  their  reins  in  ice  and  fire 
Fear  contended  with  desire. 
44 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Agued  once  like  me  were  they, 
But  I  like  them  shall  win  my  way 
Lastly  to  the  bed  of  mould 
Where  there  's  neither  heat  nor  cold. 


But  from  my  grave  across  my  brow 
Plays  no  wind  of  healing  now, 
And  fire  and  ice  within  me  fight 
Beneath  the  suffocating  night. 


?• 


XXXI 

On  Wenlock  Edge  the  wood 's  in  trouble  ; 
His  forest  fleece  the  Wrekin  heaves  ; 
The  gale,  it  plies  the  saplings  double, 
And  thick  on  Severn  snow  the  leaves. 
45 


A     SIIKOI'SII  I  UK     LAD 

'T  would  blow  like  this  Ihrough  holt  and  hanger 

When  Uric'oii  [\\v  c-itv  sloiul  : 

'T  is  the  old  wind  in  the  old  anger, 

But  then  it  threshed  another  wood. 

Then,  't  was  before  my  time,  the  Roman 
At  yonder  heaving  hill  would  stare  : 
The  blood  that  wanns  an  English  yeoman, 
The  thoughts  that  hurt  him,  they  were  there. 

There,  like  the  wind  through  woods  in  riot. 
Through  him  the  gale  of  life  blew  high  ; 
The  tree  of  man  was  never  quiet : 
Then  'twas  the  Roman,  now  't  is  I. 

The  gale,  it  plies  the  saplings  double. 
It  blows  so  hard,  't  will  soon  be  gone : 
To-day  the  Roman  and  his  trouble 
Are  ashes  under  Uricon. 


46 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


XXXII 

From  far,  from  eve  and  morning 
And  yon  twelve-winded  sky. 

The  stuff  of  life  to  knit  me 
Blew  hither  :  here  am  I. 

Now  — jbr  a  breath  I  tarry 
Nor  yet  disperse  apart  — 

Take  my  hand  quick  and  tell  me. 
What  have  you  in  your  heart. 

Speak  now,  and  I  will  answer ; 

How  shall  I  help  you,  say ; 
Ere  to  the  wind's  twelve  quarters 

1  take  my  endless  way. 

47 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

XXXIII 

If  truth  in  hearts  that  perish 
Could  move  the  powers  on  high, 

I  think  the  love  1  bear  you 
Should  make  you  not  to  die. 

Sure,  sure,  if  stedfast  meaning, 
If  single  thought  could  save, 

The  world  mi^ht  end  to-morrow. 
You  should  not  see  the  grave. 

This  long  and  sure-set  liking. 
This  boundless  will  to  please, 

— Oh,  you  should  live  for  ever 
If  there  were  help  in  these. 

But  now,  since  all  is  idle. 
To  this  lost  heart  be  kind. 

Ere  to  a  town  you  journey 
Where  friends  are  ill  to  find. 

48 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

XXXIV 

THE  NEW  MISTRESS 

'  Off,  sick  I  am  to  see  you,  will  you   never  let 

me  he? 
You  may  be  good  for  something  but  you  are  not 

good  for  me. 
Ok,  go  where  you  are  wanted,  for  you  are  7iot 

wanted  here. 
And  that  was  all  the  farewell  when  I  parted 

from  my  dear. 

'  I  will  go  where  I  am  wanted,  to  a  lady  born 

and  bred, 
Who  will   dress    me   free    for  nothing   in   a 

uniform  of  red  ; 
She  will  not  be  sick  to  see  me  if  I  only  keep 

it  clean : 
I  will  go  where  I  am  wanted  for  a  soldier  of 

the  Queen. 
4  49 


A    SlIUOl'SIl  IHH     LAD 

*  I  will  go  where  I  am  wanted,  for  the  sergeant 

does  not  mind ; 
He  may  be  sick  to  see  me  but  he  treats  me 

verj'  kind  : 
He  gives  me  beer  and  breakfast  and  a  ribbon 

for  my  cap, 
And    I    never  knew    a  sweetheart   spend    her 

money  on  a  chap. 

*  I  will  go  where  I  am  wanted,  where  there 's 

room  for  one  or  two, 
And  the  men  are  none  too  many  for  the  work 

there  is  to  do ; 
Where   the  standing  line  wears   thinner  and 

the  dropping  dead  lie  thick  ; 
And  the  enemies  of  England  they  shall  see 

me  and  be  sick.* 


50 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

XXXV    * 

On  the  idle  hill  of  summer. 

Sleepy  with  the  flow  of  streams. 

Far  I  hear  the  steady  drummer 
Drumming  like  a  noise  in  dreams. 

Far  and  near  and  low  and  louder 
On  the  roads  of  earth  go  by. 

Dear  to  friends  and  food  for  powder, 
Soldiers  marching,  all  to  die. 

East  and  west  on  fields  forgotten 
Bleach  the  bones  of  comrades  slain, 

Lovely  lads  and  dead  and  rotten  ; 
None  that  go  return  again. 

Far  the  calling  bugles  hollo. 

High  the  screaming  fife  replies. 

Gay  the  files  of  scarlet  follow  : 
Woman  bore  me,  I  will  rise. 


51 


A    SHHorSIllRE    LAD 

XXXVI  '' 

Wiiitf:  in  the  moon  tin-  long  road  lies, 
The  moon  sbmds  blank  above  ; 

White  in  the  moon  the  long  road  lies 
That  leads  me  from  my  love. 

Still  hangs  the  hedge  without  a  gustj 

Still,  still  the  shadows  stay : 
My  feet  upon  the  moonlit  dust 

Pursue  the  ceaseless  way. 

The  world  is  round,  so  travellers  tell, 
And  straight  though  reach  the  track. 

Trudge  on,  trudge  on,  't  will  all  be  well. 
The  way  will  guide  one  back. 

But  ere  the  circle  homeward  hies 

Far,  far  must  it  remove  : 
WTiite  in  the  moon  the  long  road  lies 

That  leads  me  from  my  love. 


52 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


XXXVII 

As  through  the  wild  green  hills  of  Wyre 
The  train  ran,  changing  sky  and  shire. 
And  far  behind,  a  fading  crest. 
Low  in  the  forsaken  west 
Sank  the  high-reared  head  of  Clee, 
My  hand  lay  empty  on  my  knee. 
Aching  on  my  knee  it  lay  : 
That  morning  half  a  shire  away 
So  many  an  honest  fellow's  fist 
Had  wellnigh  wrung  it  from  the  wrist. 
Hand,  said  I,  since  now  we  part 
From  fields  and  men  w^e  know  by  heart. 
For  strangers'  faces,  strangers'  lands,  — 
Hand,  you  have  held  true  fellows'  hands. 
Be  clean  then ;  rot  before  you  do 
A  thing  they  'd  not  believe  of  you. 
You  and  I  must  keep  from  shame 
In  London  streets  the  Shropshire  name ; 
53 


A     SHUOrSIIIHK     LAI) 

On  banks  of  Thames  tlu-y  must  not  say 
Severn  breeds  worse  men  tlian  they  ; 
And  friends  abroad  must  bear  in  mind 
Friends  at  home  tliey  leave  behind. 
Oh,  I  shall  be  stiff  and  cold 
When  I  forget  you,  hearts  of  gold  ; 
The  land  where  I  shall  mind  you  not 
Is  the  land  where  all  's  forgot. 
And  if  my  foot  returns  no  more 
To  Teme  nor  Corve  nor  Severn  shore. 
Luck,  ray  lads,  be  with  you  still 
By  falling  stream  and  standing  hill. 
By  chiming  tower  and  whispering  tree, 
Men  that  made  a  man  of  me. 
About  your  work  in  town  and  farm 
Still  you  '11  keep  my  head  from  harm, 
Still  you  '11  help  me,  hands  that  gave 
A  grasp  to  friend  me  to  the  grave. 


54 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

XXXVIII    ,' 

The  winds  out  of  the  west  land  blow. 
My  friends  have  breathed  them  there ; 

Warm  with  the  blood  of  lads  I  know 
Comes  east  the  sighing  air. 

It  fanned  their  temples,  filled  their  lungs. 
Scattered  their  forelocks  free  ; 

My  friends  made  words  of  it  with  tongues 
That  talk  no  more  to  me. 

Their  voices,  dying  as  they  fly. 
Thick  on  the  wind  are  sown ; 

The  names  of  men  blow  soundless  by. 
My  fellows'  and  my  own. 

Oh  lads,  at  home  I  heard  you  plain. 

But  here  your  speech  is  still. 
And  down  the  sighing  wind  in  vain 

You  hollo  from  the  hill. 

5S 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

The  wind  ;ind  I,  wc  both  were  there, 

But  neither  long  abode  ; 
Now  through  the  friendless  world  we  fare 

And  sigh  upon  the  road. 


XXXIX 

'T  IS  time,  I  think,  by  Wenlock  town 
The  golden  broom  should  blow  ; 

The  hawthorn  sprinkled  up  and  down 
Should  charge  the  land  with  snow. 


Spring  will  not  wait  the  loiterer's  time 

Who  keeps  so  long  away  ; 
So  others  wear  the  broom  and  climb 

The  hedgerows  heaped  with  may. 
56 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Oh  tarnish  late  on  Wenlock  Edge, 

Gold  that  I  never  see  ; 
Lie  long,  high  snowdrifts  in  the  hedge 

That  will  not  shower  on  me. 


Into  my  heart  an  air  that  kills 
From  yon  far  country  blows  : 

What  are  those  blue  remembered  hills. 
What  spires,  what  farms  are  those  ? 

That  is  the  land  of  lost  content, 

I  see  it  shining  plain. 
The  happy  highways  where  I  went 

And  cannot  come  again. 


57 


A     SII  UOl'SHIRE    LAD 


XLI   - 

In  my  own  shire,  if  I  was  sad, 
Homely  comforters  I  had  : 
The  earth,  because  my  heart  was  sore, 
Sorrowed  for  the  son  she  bore  ; 
And  standing  liills,  long  to  remain. 
Shared  their  short-lived  comrade's  pain. 
And  bound  for  the  same  bourn  as  I, 
On  every  road  I  wandered  by. 
Trod  beside  me,  close  and  dear, 
The  beautiful  and  death-struck  year  : 
Whether  in  the  woodland  brown 
I  heard  the  beechnut  rustle  down. 
And  saw  the  purple  crocus  pale 
Flower  about  the  autumn  dale  ; 
Or  littering  far  the  fields  of  May 
Lady-smocks  a-bleaching  lay. 
And  like  a  skylit  water  stood 
The  bluebells  in  the  azured  wood. 
58 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Yonder,  lightening  other  loads. 
The  seasons  range  the  country  roads, 
But  here  in  London  streets  I  ken 
No  such  helpmates,  only  men ; 
And  these  are  not  in  plight  to  bear. 
If  they  would,  another's  care. 
They  have  enough  as  't  is  :  I  see 
In  many  an  eye  that  measures  me 
The  mortal  sickness  of  a  mind 
Too  unhappy  to  be  kind. 
Undone  with  misery,  all  they  can 
Is  to  hate  their  fellow  man  ; 
And  till  they  drop  they  needs  must  still 
Look  at  you  and  wish  you  ill. 


59 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

XLII 
THE   MERRY   GUIDE 

Once  in  the  wind  of  morning 
I  ranged  the  thymy  wold  ; 

The  world-wide  air  was  azure 
And  all  the  brooks  ran  gold. 


There  through  the  dews  beside  me 
Behold  a  youth  that  trod, 

With  feathered  cap  on  forehead, 
And  poised  a  golden  rod. 


With  mien  to  match  the  morning 
And  gay  delightful  guise 

And  friendly  brows  and  laughter 
He  looked  me  in  the  eyes. 
60 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Oh  whence,  I  asked,  and  whither  ? 

He  smiled  and  would  not  say, 
And  looked  at  me  and  beckoned 

And  laughed  and  led  the  way. 


And  with  kind  looks  and  laughter 
And  nought  to  say  beside 

We  two  went  on  together, 
I  and  my  happy  guide. 


Across  the  glittering  pastures 
And  empty  upland  still 

And  solitude  of  shepherds 
High  in  the  folded  hill. 


By  hanging  woods  and  hamlets 
That  gaze  through  orchards  down 

On  many  a  windmill  turning 
And  far-discovered  town, 
6i 


A    SIIROPSIIIUE    LAD 

With  gay  regards  of  promise 
And  sure  unslackened  stride 

And  smiles  and  nothing  spoken 
Led  on  my  merry  guide. 


By  blowing  realms  of  woodland 
With  sunstruck  vanes  afield 

And  cloud-led  shadows  sailing 
About  the  windy  weald, 

By  valley-guarded  granges 
And  silver  waters  wide. 

Content  at  heart  I  followed 
With  my  delightful  guide. 

And  like  the  cloudy  shadows 
Across  the  country  blown 

W^e  two  fare  on  for  ever. 
But  not  we  two  alone. 
62 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

With  the  great  gale  we  journey 

That  breathes  from  gardens  thinned, 

Borne  in  the  drift  of  blossoms 
Whose  petals  throng  the  wind  ; 

Buoyed  on  the  heaven-heard  whisper 

Of  dancing  leaflets  whirled 
From  all  the  woods  that  autumn 

Bereaves  in  all  the  world. 

And  midst  the  fluttering  legion 

Of  all  that  ever  died 
I  follow,  and  before  us 

Goes  the  delightful  guide. 

With  lips  that  brim  with  laughter 

But  never  once  respond, 
And  feet  that  fly  on  feathers. 

And  serpent-circled  wand. 

63 


A    SHROrSHIRE     LAD 

XLiir 

THE   IMMORTAL   PART 

When  I  meet  the  morning  beam. 
Or  lay  me  down  at  night  to  dream, 
I  hear  my  bones  within  me  say, 
'  Another  night,  another  day. 


'  When  shall  this  slough  of  sense  be  cast, 
This  dust  of  thoughts  be  laid  at  last, 
The  man  of  flesh  and  soul  be  slain 
And  the  man  of  bone  remain  ? 


'  This  tongue  that  talks,  these  lungs  that  shout, 
These  thews  that  hustle  us  about. 
This  brain  that  fills  the  skull  with  schemes, 
And  its  humming  hive  of  dreams,  — 
64 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

These  to-day  are  proud  in  power 
And  lord  it  in  their  little  hour : 
The  immortal  bones  obey  control 
Of  dying  flesh  and  dying  soul. 


'  'T  is  long  till  eve  and  morn  are  gone 
Slow  the  endless  night  comes  on, 
And  late  to  fulness  grows  the  birth 
That  shall  last  as  long  as  earth. 


'  Wanderers  eastward,  wanderers  west, 
Know  you  why  you  cannot  rest  ? 
'T  is  that  every  mother's  son 
Travails  with  a  skeleton. 


'  Lie  down  in  the  bed  of  dust ; 
Bear  the  fruit  that  bear  you  must ; 
Bring  the  eternal  seed  to  light, 
And  mom  is  all  the  same  as  night. 


A   s  II  HO  PS  n  I  in:   i.ad 

'  Rest  you  so  from  trouble  sore, 
I-\;ir  the  heat  o'  the  sun  no  more, 
Nor  the  snowinj;  winter  wild, 
Now  you  labour  not  with  child. 

'  Empty  vessel,  garment  cast. 
We  that  wore  you  long  shall  last. 
—  Another  night,  another  day.' 
So  my  bones  within  me  say. 

Therefore  they  shall  do  my  will 
To-day  while  I  am  master  still. 
And  flesh  and  soul,  now  both  are  strong, 
Shall  hale  the  sullen  slaves  along, 

Before  this  fire  of  sense  decay, 
This  smoke  of  thought  blow-  clean  away. 
And  leave  with  ancient  night  alone 
The  stedfast  and  enduring  bone. 


66 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


XLIV  -- 

Shot  ?  so  quick^  so  clean  an  ending  ? 

Oh  that  was  right,  lad,  that  was  brave  : 
Yours  was  not  an  ill  for  mending, 
'T  was  best  to  take  it  to  the  grave. 


Oh  you  had  forethought,  you  could  reason, 
And  saw  your  road  and  where  it  led. 

And  early  wise  and  brave  in  season 
Put  the  pistol  to  your  head. 


Oh  soon,  and  better  so  than  later 

After  long  disgrace  and  scorn. 
You  shot  dead  the  household  traitor. 

The  soul  that  should  not  have  been  born. 
67 


A    SIIUOPSHIRE     LAD 

Right  you  guessed  the  rising  morrow 

And  scorned  to  tread  the  mire  you  must : 

Dust 's  your  wages,  son  of  sorrow, 

But  men  may  come  to  worse  than  dust. 

Souls  undone,  undoing  others,  — 

Long  time  since  the  tale  began. 
You  would  not  live  to  wrong  your  brothers : 

Oh  lad,  you  died  as  fits  a  man. 

Now  to  your  grave  shall  friend  and  stranger 
With  ruth  and  some  with  envy  come  : 

Undishonoured,  clear  of  danger, 

Clean  of  guilt,  pass  hence  and  home. 

Turn  safe  to  rest,  no  dreams,  no  waking  ; 

And  here,  man,  here  's  the  wreath  I  've  made 
'T  is  not  a  gift  that 's  worth  the  taking. 

But  wear  it  and  it  will  not  fade. 


68 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

XLV  -^ 

If  it  chance  your  eye  offend  you. 
Pluck  it  out,  lad,  and  be  sound  : 

'T  will  hurt,  but  here  are  salves  to  friend  you, 
And  many  a  balsam  grows  on  ground. 

And  if  your  hand  or  foot  offend  you. 

Cut  it  off,  lad,  and  be  whole ; 
But  play  the  man,  stand  up  and  end  you. 

When  your  sickness  is  your  soul. 


XLVI      - 

Bring,  in  this  timeless  grave  to  throw, 
No  cypress,  sombre  on  the  snow ; 
Snap  not  from  the  bitter  yew 
His  leaves  that  live  December  thi'ough ; 
Break  no  rosemary,  bright  with  rime 
And  sparkling  to  the  cruel  clime  ; 
69 


A    SHUOrsiIlUK     LAD 

Nor  plod  the  winter  l.uul  to  look 
For  willows  in  the  ley  brook 
To  cast  them  leafless  round  him  :  bring 
No  sprny  that  ever  buds  in  spring. 

But  if  the  Christmas  field  has  kept 
Awns  the  last  gleaner  overstept, 
Or  shrivelled  flax,  whose  flower  is  blue 
A  single  season,  never  two  ; 
Or  if  one  haulm  whose  year  is  o'er 
Shivers  on  the  upland  frore, 
—  Oh,  bring  from  hill  and  stream  and  plain 
Whatever  will  not  flower  again. 
To  give  him  comfort :  he  and  those 
Shall  bide  eternal  bedfellows 
Where  low  upon  the  couch  he  lies 
Whence  he  never  shall  arise. 


70 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

XLVII 

THE  CARPENTER'S  SON 

'  Here  the  hangman  stops  his  cart : 
Now  the  best  of  friends  must  part. 
Fare  you  well,  for  ill  fare  I  : 
Live,  lads,  and  I  will  die. 


'  Oh,  at  home  had  I  but  stayed 
'Prenticed  to  my  father's  trade. 
Had  I  stuck  to  plane  and  adze, 
I  had  not  been  lost,  my  lads. 


'  Then  I  might  have  built  perhaps 
Gallows-trees  for  other  chaps, 
Never  dangled  on  my  own. 
Had  I  but  left  ill  alone. 
71 


A     Sll  UOI'SII  IKi:     LAD 

*  Now,  you  see,  they  han";  me  hi^^h. 
And  the  people  pjissing  by 

Stoj)  to  shake  their  fists  and  curse  ; 
So  't  is  couie  from  ill  to  worse. 

*  Here  hanjr  I,  and  ri^ht  and  left 
Two  poor  fellows  hang  for  tlieft : 
All  the  same 's  the  luck  we  prove. 
Though  the  midmost  hangs  for  love. 

'  Gjmrades  all,  that  stand  and  gaze, 
Walk  henceforth  in  other  ways  ; 
See  my  neck  and  save  your  own  : 
Comrades  all,  leave  ill  alone. 

*  Make  some  day  a  decent  end, 
Shrewder  fellows  than  your  friend. 
Fare  you  well,  for  ill  fare  I : 
Live,  lads,  and  I  will  die.' 


72 


A   SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


XLVIII 

Be  still,  ray  soul,  be  still ;  the  arms  you  bear 
are  brittle. 
Earth  and  high  heaven  are  fixt  of  old  and 
founded  strong. 
Think  rather,  —  call  to  thought,  if  now  you 
grieve  a  little. 
The   days   when   we   had   rest,  O  soul,  for 
they  were  long. 


Men  loved  unkindness  then,  but  lightless  in 
the  quarry 
I  slept  and  saw  not ;  tears  fell  down,  I  did 
not  mourn ; 
Sweat  ran   and    blood  sprang   out   and   I  was 
never  sorry  : 
Then  it  was  well  with  me,  in  days  ere  I  was 
bom. 

73 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Now,  and  I  muse  for  why  and  never  find  the 
reason, 
I  pace  the  earth,  and  drink  the  air,  and  feel 
the  sun. 
Be   still,    be  still,  my    soul ;    it    is    but    for   a 
season  : 
Let  us   endure  an  hour   and   see   injustice 
done. 


Ay,  look  :  high  heaven  and  earth  ail  from  the 
prime  foundation  ; 
All  thoughts  to  rive  the  heart  are  here,  and 
all  are  vain  : 
Horror   and   scorn    and   hate    and   fear    and 
indignation  — 
Oh  why  did  I  awake  ?  when  shall  I  sleep 
again  ? 


74 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


XLIX 

Think  no  more,  lad  ;  laugh,  be  jolly  : 
Why  should  men  make  haste  to  die  ? 

Empty  heads  and  tongues  a-talking 

Make  the  rough  road  easy  walking, 

And  the  feather  pate  of  folly 
Bears  the  falling  sky. 

Oh,  'tis  jesting,  dancing,  drinking 

Spins  the  heavy  world  around. 

If  young  hearts  were  not  so  clever. 

Oh,  they  would  be  young  for  ever : 

Think  no  more  ;  't  is  only  thinking 

Lays  lads  underground. 


9 


75 


A    SHKOrSHIUE    JLAD 


Clunton  and  Clunbury, 
Clungunford  and  Clun, 

Are  tlie  quietest  places 
Under  the  sun. 

In  valleys  of  springs  of  rivers, 
By  Ony  and  Teme  and  Clun, 

The  country  for  easy  livers, 
The  quietest  under  the  sun. 

We  still  had  sorrows  to  lighten. 
One  could  not  be  always  glad, 

And  lads  knew  trouble  at  Knighton 
WTien  I  was  a  Knighton  lad. 

By  bridges  that  Thames  runs  under. 
In  London,  the  town  built  ill, 

'T  is  sure  small  matter  for  wonder 
If  sorrow  is  with  one  still. 
76 


A    SHROPSHIKE    LAD 

And  if  as  a  lad  grows  older 

The  troubles  he  bears  are  more. 

He  carries  his  griefs  on  a  shoulder 
That  handselled  them  long  before. 


Where  shall  one  halt  to  deliver 
This  luggage  I  'd  lief  set  down  ? 

Not  Thames^  not  Teme  is  the  river. 
Nor  London  nor  Knighton  the  town 


'T  is  a  long  way  further  than  Knighton, 

A  quieter  place  than  Clun, 
Where  doomsday  may  thunder  and  lighten 

And  little  't  will  matter  to  one. 


9 


77 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

LI 

Loitering  with  a  vacant  eye 
Along  the  Grecian  gallery, 
And  brooding  on  my  heavy  ill, 
I  met  a  stiitue  standing  still. 
Still  in  marble  stone  stood  he. 
And  stedfastly  he  looked  at  me. 
'  Well  met,'  I  thought  the  look  would  say, 
*  We  both  were  fashioned  far  away  ; 
We  neither  knew,  when  we  were  young. 
These  Londoners  we  live  among.' 

Still  he  stood  and  eyed  me  hard. 
An  earnest  and  a  grave  regard  : 
'  What,  lad,  drooping  with  your  lot  ? 
I  too  would  be  where  I  am  not. 
I  too  survey  that  endless  line 
Of  men  whose  thoughts  are  not  as  mine. 
Years,  ere  you  stood  up  from  rest. 
On  my  neck  the  collar  prest ; 
78 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Years  when  you  lay  down  your  ill, 
I  shall  stand  and  bear  it  still. 
Courage,  lad,  't  is  not  for  long  : 
Stand,  quit  you  like  stone,  be  strong. 
So  I  thought  his  look  would  say  ; 
And  light  on  me  my  trouble  lay. 
And  I  stept  out  in  flesh  and  bone 
Manful  like  the  man  of  stone. 

9 

LII  - 

Far  in  a  western  brookland 

That  bred  me  long  ago 
The  poplars  stand  and  tremble 

By  pools  I  used  to  laiow. 

There,  in  the  windless  night-time. 
The  wanderer,  marvelling  why. 

Halts  on  the  bridge  to  hearken 
How  soft  the  poplars  sigh. 
79 


A     SHROrSHIUE    LAD 

He  hears  :  long  since  forgotten 
In  fields  where  I  was  known. 

Here  I  lie  down  in  London 
And  turn  to  rest  alone. 


There,  by  the  starlit  fences, 
The  wanderer  halts  and  hears 

My  soul  that  lingers  sighing 
About  the  glimmering  weirs. 


LIII 
THE  TRUE  LOVER 

The  lad  came  to  the  door  at  night. 
When  lovers  crown  their  vows. 

And  whistled  soft  and  out  of  sight 
In  shadow  of  the  boughs. 
80 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

'  I  shall  not  vex  you  with  my  face 
Henceforth,  my  love,  for  aye  ; 

So  take  me  in  your  arms  a  space 
Before  the  east  is  grey. 


'  When  I  from  hence  away  am  past 

I  shall  not  find  a  bride. 
And  you  shall  be  the  first  and  last 

I  ever  lay  beside.* 


She  heard  and  went  and  knew  not  why ; 

Her  heart  to  his  she  laid ; 
Light  was  the  air  beneath  the  sky 

But  dark  under  the  shade. 


*  Oh  do  you  breathe,  lad,  that  your  breast 

Seems  not  to  rise  and  fall. 
And  here  upon  ray  bosom  prest 

There  beats  no  heai-t  at  all  ?  ' 
6  8i 


A    SHROPSIIIUE    LAD 

*  Oh  loud,  nij  girl,  it  once  would  knock. 

You  should  have  felt  it  then  ; 
But  since  for  you  I  stopped  the  clock 
It  never  goes  again.'  , 

'  Oh  lad,  what  is  it,  lad,  that  drips 
Wet  from  your  neck  on  mine  ? 

What  is  it  falling  on  my  lips, 
My  lad,  that  tastes  of  brine  ? ' 

*  Oh  like  enough  't  is  blood,  my  dear, 

For  when  the  knife  has  slit 

The  throat  across  from  ear  to  ear 

'T  will  bleed  because  of  it.' 

Under  the  stars  the  air  was  light 

But  dark  below  the  boughs. 
The  still  air  of  the  speechless  night, 

W^hen  lovers  crown  their  vows. 


82 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


LIV 

With  rue  my  heart  is  laden 
For  golden  friends  I  had. 

For  many  a  rose-lipt  maiden 
And  many  a  lightfoot  lad. 

By  brooks  too  broad  for  leaping 
The  lightfoot  boys  are  laid  ; 

The  rose-lipt  girls  are  sleeping 
In  fields  where  roses  fade. 


LV    *' 

Westward  on  the  high-hilled  plains 
Where  for  me  the  world  began. 

Still,  I  think,  in  newer  veins 

Frets  the  changeless  blood  of  man. 
S3 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Now  that  other  lads  than  I 

Strip  to  bathe  on  Severn  shore, 

They,  no  help,  for  all  they  try. 
Tread  tlie  mill  I  trod  before. 


There,  when  hueless  is  the  west 
And  the  darkness  hushes  wide, 

Where  the  lad  lies  down  to  rest 
Stands  the  troubled  dream  beside. 


There,  on  thoughts  that  once  were  mine. 
Day  looks  down  the  eastern  steep, 

And  the  youth  at  morning  shine 
Makes  the  vow  he  will  not  keep. 


84 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

LVI 

THE  DAY   OF  BATTLE 

*  Far  I  hear  the  bugle  blow 
To  call  me  where  I  would  not  go. 
And  the  guns  begin  the  song, 
"  Soldier,  fly  or  stay  for  long." 


'  Comrade,  if  to  turn  and  fly 
Made  a  soldier  never  die. 
Fly  I  would,  for  who  would  not  ? 
'T  is  sure  no  pleasure  to  be  shot. 


'But  since  the  man  that  runs  away 
Lives  to  die  another  day. 
And  cowards'  funerals,  when  they  come, 
Are  not  wept  so  well  at  home, 
85 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

*  Therefore,  though  the  best  is  bad. 
Stand  and  do  the  best,  my  lad  ; 
Stand  and  fight  and  see  your  slain, 
And  take  the  bullet  in  your  brain.' 


LVII 

You  smile  upon  your  friend  to-day, 
To-day  his  ills  are  over  ; 

You  hearken  to  the  lover's  say, 
And  happy  is  the  lover. 

'T  is  late  to  hearken,  late  to  smile. 
But  better  late  than  never  : 

I  shall  have  lived  a  little  while 
Before  I  die  for  ever. 


9- 

86 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

LVIII  ,■' 

When  I  came  last  to  Ludlow 
Amidst  the  moonlight  pale. 

Two  friends  kept  step  beside  me. 
Two  honest  lads  and  hale. 

Now  Dick  lies  long  in  the  churchyard 

And  Ned  lies  long  in  jail. 
And  I  come  home  to  Ludlow 

Amidst  the  moonlight  pale. 


LIX 

THE   ISLE   OF   PORTLAND 

The  star- filled  seas  are  smooth  to-night 
From  France  to  England  strown  ; 

Black  towers  above  the  Portland  light 
The  felon-quarried  stone. 
87 


A     SIIHOI'SIIIUE    LAD 

On  yondrr  islaiul,  not  to  rise, 
Nevrr  to  stir  forth  free, 

Far  from  liis  folk  a  (Kad  lad  lies 
That  once  was  friends  with  nie. 


Lie  you  easy,  dream  you  hj^ht. 
And  sleep  you  fast  for  aye  ; 

And  luckier  may  you  find  the  night 
Than  ever  you  found  the  day. 


LX     — 

Now  hollow  fires  burn  out  to  black. 
And  lights  are  guttering  low  : 

Square  your  shoulders,  lift  your  pack. 
And  leave  your  friends  and  go. 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

Oh  never  fear,  man,  nought 's  to  dread, 

Look  not  left  nor  right : 
In  all  the  endless  road  you  tread 

There 's  nothing  but  the  night. 


LXI 
HUGH  LEY   STEEPLE 

The  vane  on  Hughley  steeple 

Veers  bright,  a  far-known  sign, 
And  there  lie  Hughley  people. 

And  there  lie  friends  of  mine. 
Tall  in  their  midst  the  tower 

Divides  the  shade  and  sun. 
And  the  clock  strikes  the  hour 

And  tells  the  time  to  none. 
89 


A   siiKorsHiui:   lad 

To  south  the  licadstones  cluster. 

The  sunny  mounds  lie  thick  ; 
The  dead  are  more  in  muster 

At  Hugliley  than  the  quick. 
North,  for  a  soon-told  number, 

Chill  graves  the  sexton  delves. 
And  steeple-shadowed  slumber 

The  slayers  of  themselves. 

To  north,  to  south,  lie  parted. 

With  Hughley  tower  above. 
The  kind,  the  single-hearted. 

The  lads  I  used  to  love. 
And,  south  or  north,  't  is  only 

A  choice  of  friends  one  knows. 
And  I  shall  ne'er  be  lonely 

Asleep  with  these  or  those. 


90 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

LXII 

'  Terence,  this  is  stupid  stuff : 
You  eat  your  victuals  fast  enough  ; 
There  can't  be  much  amiss,  't  is  clear. 
To  see  the  rate  you  drink  your  beer. 
But  oh,  good  Lord,  the  verse  you  make, 
It  gives  a  chap  the  belly-ache. 
The  cow,  the  old  cow,  she  is  dead  ; 
It  sleeps  well,  the  horned  head  : 
We  poor  lads,  't  is  our  turn  now 
To  hear  such  tunes  as  killed  the  cow. 
Pretty  friendship  't  is  to  rhyme 
Your  friends  to  death  before  their  time 
Moping  melancholy  mad  : 
Come,  pipe  a  tune  to  dance  to,  lad.* 

Why,  if  't  is  dancing  you  would  be. 
There  's  brisker  pipes  than  poetry. 
Say,  for  what  were  hop-yards  meant, 
Or  why  was  Burton  built  on  Trent  ? 
91 


A    SHROPSHIRE    I. AD 

Oh  many  a  peer  of  iMigland  brews 

Livelier  liquor  than  the  Muse, 

And  malt  does  more  than  Milton  can 

To  justify  God's  ways  to  man. 

Ale,  man,  ale  's  the  stuff  to  drink 

For  fellows  whom  it  hurts  to  think  : 

Look  into  the  pewter  pot 

To  see  the  world  as  the  world  *s  not. 

And  faith,  't  is  pleasant  till  't  is  past : 

The  mischief  is  that  't  will  not  last. 

Oh  I  have  been  to  Ludlow  fair 

And  left  my  necktie  God  knows  where. 

And  carried  half  way  home,  or  near. 

Pints  and  quarts  of  Ludlow  beer : 

Then  the  world  seemed  none  so  bad. 

And  I  myself  a  sterling  lad  ; 

And  down  in  lovely  muck  I  've  lain, 

Happy  till  I  woke  again. 

Then  I  saw  the  morning  sky : 

Heigho,  the  tale  was  all  a  lie  ; 


92 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 

The  world,  it  was  the  old  world  yet, 
I  was  I,  my  things  were  wet, 
And  nothing  now  remained  to  do 
But  begin  the  game  anew. 

Therefore,  since  the  world  has  still 
Much  good,  but  much  less  good  than  ill, 
And  while  the  sun  and  moon  endure 
Luck  's  a  chance,  but  ti'ouble  's  sure, 
I  'd  face  it  as  a  wise  man  would. 
And  train  for  ill  and  not  for  good. 
'T  is  true,  the  stuff  I  bring  for  sale 
Is  not  so  brisk  a  brew  as  ale  : 
Out  of  a  stem  that  scored  the  hand 
I  wrung  it  in  a  weary  land. 
But  take  it :  if  the  smack  is  sour. 
The  better  for  the  embittered  hour  ; 
It  should  do  good  to  heart  and  head 
When  your  soul  is  in  my  soul's  stead ; 
And  I  will  friend  you,  if  I  may. 
In  the  dark  and  cloudy  day. 
93 


A    SnUOPSIIIRE    LAD 

There  was  a  king  reigned  in  the  East : 
There,  when  kings  will  sit  to  feast, 
They  get  their  fill  before  they  think 
With  poisoned  meat  and  poisoned  drink. 
He  gathered  all  that  s})rings  to  birth 
From  the  many-venomed  earth  ; 
First  a  little,  thence  to  more. 
He  sampled  all  her  killing  store ; 
And  easy,  smiling,  seasoned  sound. 
Sate  the  king  when  healths  went  round. 
They  put  arsenic  in  his  meat 
And  stared  aghast  to  watch  him  eat ; 
They  poured  strychnine  in  his  cup 
And  shook  to  see  him  drink  it  up : 
They  shook,  they  stared  as  white  's  their  shirt 
Them  it  was  their  poison  hurt. 
—  I  tell  the  tale  that  I  heard  told, 
Mithridates,  he  died  old. 


94 


A    SHROPSHIRE    LAD 


LXIII  _ 

I  HOED  and  trenched  and  weeded. 
And  took  the  flowers  to  fair : 

I  brought  them  home  unheeded  ; 
The  hue  was  not  the  wear. 


So  up  and  down  I  sow  them 
For  lads  like  me  to  find. 

When  I  shall  lie  below  them, 
A  dead  man  out  of  mind. 


Some  seeds  the  birds  devour. 
And  some  the  season  mars. 

But  here  and  there  will  flower 
The  solitary  stars, 
95 


A    SIIROrSHIUE    l.AI) 

And  fields  will  yearly  bear  them 
As  light-leaved  spriiii;  eomes  on. 

And  luckless  lads  will  wear  them 
When  I  am  dead  and  gone. 


The  End 


•T7 


^ 


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